The day I found out I was pregnant, they threw me in the cold room.

Ninety-nine calls later, Sandro Vaitti finally picked up.

"The Family made that call," he said. "It was Genny's birthday. She got a fever because of you. This is your punishment. Just wait—once you're out, I'll marry you."

Sandro's favorite line? 'Just wait.'

His mafia family hated me. He swore once he gave them their precious heir, he'd cut ties and choose me.

I bought it. Waited two years.

Waited while he hooked up with Helga Cicili and had a kid—Genny.

Then came the kicker: A daughter can't carry the Family name. He had to have a son with Helga.

And yeah, I believed him. Again.

Waited another year—until Helga got pregnant with his golden boy.

I thought, 'Finally. Done waiting.'

Then plot twist—I was pregnant too. Day before the wedding. Felt like fate.

Didn't even get to tell him.

They locked me up. Cold room.

I curled up, shaking, barely breathing.

When the door creaked open, I knew—

I was done.

Done waiting.

Done begging.

I'd leave. And I'd take my baby with me.

They stripped me bare and tossed me in the cold room.

It was the day after Genny's birthday. Cute little one-year-old, right? Until someone dumped ice water on her. Fever hit fast. And guess who they all blamed?

Me.

Helga came swinging, screaming, yanking my hair.

Sandro Vaitti? Didn't even look at me. Just, "Why'd you hurt my kid?"

I hadn't.

He hung up on me.

Next thing I knew, I was locked in a cold room for twelve hours. So cold I couldn't even blink. Thought I was gonna die in there.

Then the speaker crackled.

"Twelve hours, Emilia Estavini. Do you understand what you did wrong?"

Sandro. Of course.

In the background, Helga Cicili's fake-sweet voice oozed through. "Sandro, it was just a fever. I'll take care of Genny. Maybe the Family should forgive Emilia..."

I didn't answer. Couldn't. My eyelids barely moved.

Then Sandro snapped. "You're not even reflecting, huh? Keep it up—we'll make it another twelve."

That's when it hit—pain like a knife in my gut. Warmth trickled down my legs.

His voice flipped. "Blood! She's bleeding! Open the door!"

Slam. He ran in, scooped me up.

Blood soaked his hands.

His eyes went wide. Face cracked open. "You're... pregnant?"

I couldn't even nod.

Helga stormed in, eyes all red and dramatic. "Sandro! Genny's fever's back! You have to come!"

He looked at me. Then her.

She glanced at the blood, nose wrinkling. "Seriously? You couldn't handle your period like a normal person?"

And then, like it was a bargain: "Or was this all for pity? You've done your twelve hours. Just say sorry, I'll forgive you."

Sandro frowned, then handed me off like I was nothing. "Take her home. When she's ready to apologize, call me. Call Helga."

He walked away with her. Didn't even look back.

Something inside me froze harder than the room itself. The pain swallowed everything. I passed out in my own blood.

***

I woke up in my bed.

The doctor said I was lucky. Any later, the baby wouldn't have made it.

She looked at me, hesitating. "They told me it was just your period. They stripped a pregnant woman and threw her in a freezer. You never told Sandro?"

A gust of wind flipped open my diary. Each page had a number—how many times I waited over the last three years. How many times he let me down.

I shook my head, meeting her soft, worried eyes. "Please... don't tell anyone. I'm leaving."

My eyes landed on the last page.

Page 99.

Three years.

Ninety-nine chances.

That was it. I was done waiting.

After the doctor left, the house went dead quiet.

I dragged myself out of bed and started packing.

Halfway down the stairs, diary in hand, I ran right into Sandro and Helga. She was cradling Genny, both of them laughing like some perfect family.

Sandro saw me and froze, like I was a threat or something. Pulled Genny behind him without thinking.

Once Helga whisked Genny away, he chilled a little. Tried to explain. "Helga's pregnant with my son. She can't handle a sick kid, so I brought them here."

Then he noticed my face and that irritation kicked in. "Genny got sick because of your jealousy. Since you're fine now, apologize to Helga and help the maids with Genny."

Normally, I'd have yelled at him.

This time, I just looked up and met his eyes.

Sandro noticed my pale lips, brows pulling tight. Stepped in closer. "You look awful. Is it your period? Did the cold room mess you up? What'd the doctor say?"

I stepped back. Dodged his hand.

Sandro froze, then frowned. "Emilia, after last night, the more I defend you, the worse my family gets.

"But now that Helga's pregnant with my son, they've agreed to the wedding. Even if you're still not okay—can't you just admit you were wrong? For me?

"Once Genny's better, I'll convince them to reschedule everything."

'Still telling me to wait.' I said inwardly.

I held onto the diary tighter, tossed him a bitter smile.

He didn't like that. "Smile? What's so funny?"

He ripped the diary from my hands, flipping through it like it owed him answers. His eyes landed on the numbers—every time I waited. Every time he failed me.

Clueless.

"What the hell is this supposed to mean?"

He kept flipping, pages snapping, until he hit the last one—the one where I wrote about the baby.

Helga stepped in like clockwork, Genny in her arms. "Sandro, it's normal for Emilia to be emotional after punishment. I'll take Genny back to the manor. No need to argue."

She looked all helpless and soft—nothing like the ice queen who smirked while ordering her guys to strip me.

That fake plea? Cracked whatever spine Sandro had left.

"Don't overthink," he told her gently. "This argument isn't about you."

Then he turned to me, all exasperation. "Emilia, if you were more like Helga—gentle, mature, not so bitter toward Genny—we'd be married by now."

"I didn't—who poured the water on Genny wasn't—"

I tried to speak, but Helga swooped in, sugar-dripping voice and all. "It's my fault! I panicked when Genny got a fever. I never imagined they'd punish you so harshly.

"You don't have kids, Emilia... so maybe you just don't understand what it feels like to be a mother."

She smoothed her hair, and the ruby ring caught the light.

I froze. Shaking harder than I had in the cold room.

That ring—Sandro's mom's heirloom. The one he used to propose to me.

He'd knelt, said he'd only ever give it to the woman he loved most.

It was supposed to be on my finger tomorrow.

Now it was on hers.

Sandro's voice came out stiff. "Helga's Genny's mom. It made sense for her to wear the ring at the party. And... our wedding got postponed after your punishment. When we reschedule, I'll have her give it back."

'Yeah, right. There's no next time.' I sneered to myself.

"Alright," I said, head down so he wouldn't see my eyes.

Sandro was playing nurse for sick little Genny and baby mama Helga.

He had no clue I'd already booked a flight—three days and I was gone.

That night, just when I figured he'd crash next to Helga, my door creaked open.

The bed dipped.

He slid in, wrapped his arms around me.

"Genny's fever finally broke. Helga's asleep too," he said, hand settling on my stomach.

I flinched when he whispered, "Your belly feeling better?"

No answer from me, so of course he started rubbing my lower stomach like nothing had changed.

I shoved his hand off. "I'm fine.

"But I'm not."

He exhaled, then pulled my hand to his shoulder like some kid needing a hug. "It hurts here."

My fingers grazed the scar. I went still.

The memories slammed in.

Sandro—Vaitti golden boy—could've had any mafia heiress. Instead, he picked me. No title, no name, nothing.

Three years ago, he tried to walk away from it all—for me. His dad's punishment? Ninety-nine brutal lashes.

I bawled like my chest was being ripped open.

"Emilia, my father finally agreed to let me go. I just have to give him an heir. Wait for me," he'd whispered, half-dead in my arms, smiling like the welts weren't tearing his back apart.

How the hell did we end up here?

Back in the moment, he sighed, kissed my fingers. "You're the only one I've ever loved. Everything I've done... it was for you. Just wait a little longer, okay?"

My hand hovered. "What if I told you the person who hurt your daughter wasn't—"

"It doesn't matter anymore," he cut in, voice worn down. "My father's coming to see Genny tomorrow. For our future, Emilia... just be nice to Helga. Once he calms down, we can finally have our wedding."

My heart iced over. The fingers he kissed? Numb.

"Okay."

I shut my eyes. I was done hoping.

***

At dawn, Davide Vaitti showed up. Don of the Vaitti Family. Cold as ever.

He didn't even glance my way until Genny got a clean bill.

Then he handed me a contract, eyes sharp and freezing. "Sandro keeps nagging me about the wedding. Since he's so insistent, I'll allow it. But for my grandson's safety, sign this agreement. Then you get your marriage."

Sandro looked at me like this was great news, totally ignoring the fact I'd gone pale.

I stared at the Don, stunned. "You want me to sign something saying I'll never have kids?"

Davide didn't even blink. "My grandson's mother can only be Helga Cicili. If you stay childless, you're not a threat."

My stomach twisted. I turned to Sandro, voice cracking. "You knew? You agreed to this?"

He shifted, uncomfortable. "It's not like we have a kid. We could always get a dog or something."

Then he stepped closer, like that would help. "Just sign it. Father said once you do, we don't have to wait for Helga's baby. We can get married next week."

I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. My eyes stung. "And if I don't?"

"Then you'll never marry Sandro," Davide snapped.

Sandro glanced at his dad, then turned on me, voice tight. "Emilia, everything we've done—everything—was for us to be together! He's only hesitating because of what happened to Genny. What are you trying to prove now?"

Davide scoffed and stormed off.

Sandro didn't even look back. Just chased after him to smooth things over.

And then came Helga, practically glowing with smugness.

"Emilia," she purred, "looks like locking you in that cold room wasn't enough of a wake-up call."

She scooped the contract off the floor, waving it. "See this? Only I'm fit to stand next to Sandro. You? You're just some nobody. And if I feel like it, I can make sure you not only lost that baby in the cold room—but never have another one again."

She knew.

She'd known all along.

Panic surged. My hands flew to my stomach as I turned and bolted for my room.

But as the front door creaked open, Helga's hand clamped onto my arm. Her voice went shrill, dramatic enough for the whole house to hear. "Emilia, what are you doing? Don't hurt my baby!"

Sandro burst in right on cue.

Helga staggered back, crashing into the shoe cabinet. "Ah! It hurts! Sandro—our baby!" she wailed, clutching her stomach.

The second he saw her crumpled and crying, he shoved me out of the way and scooped her up.

I hit the floor, pain slicing through my abdomen. Warm blood spread beneath me—again.

Somehow, I still managed to call the doctor before everything went dark.

Sandro never came back.

Three days later—the day I was supposed to leave—I tore the contract to pieces. Tossed it, along with my diary, into the trash. Then walked away without looking back.